Hello
by MissMRene
Summary: He'd written letters when he was young and naive. She was never supposed to read them. (A tale of the reconstruction of Hogwarts and the reformation of relationships.)
1. Chapter 1

_(Prologue)_

 _I just wanna keep calling your name._

He doesn't intend for her to read the letters. They're the half-mad ramblings of a lonely mind, one whose natural inclinations lead to her destruction. He has bullied and backstabbed and betrayed and he knows he has done his only friend wrong. He was wrong for her the moment she stepped into his life, took his hand, and asked him to be her friend.

He has changed since the Dark Days. They are hardly over and yet he can already feel the blackness fading from his soul. Not to say that he is _okay_. Being _okay_ almost feels wrong, now. He knows they are right to distrust him, and he keeps his distance. If he comes across the others, he pretends not to notice their thinly veiled stares. He knows he is a monster.

The letters aren't with him; he's left them at home, _out of sight and out of mind_. He tries not to think about them, hidden away in the top drawer of his dresser (left-hand side, underneath things he inherited from Uncle Sev, including the old man's wand). But his thoughts stray to the envelopes more often than he should allow. The halls seem odd and empty without her in them, and he knows that if he let her read the letters she'd return. She is nothing if not a believer in loyalty and redemption.

(But of course, he doesn't deserve either.)

 _Till you come back home._

She can't bring herself to go back. She knows her friends miss her ( _or do they?_ ) because they've said so, over and over, but that doesn't mean she's ready.

They lived, of course. The war is over and restoration has begun, and she is among those hailed as heroes. But the cost of such a title was steep, and the faces of those who are gone dance through her mind with almost constant persistence. The faces of the living come too, but she bats them away. They are the heroes; she has done nothing to deserve their praise (let alone their friendship).

The past years have taken their toll, and the once vibrant child is no longer. She knows she needs to go home to regain her former self.

(The letters that begin to arrive at the house with alarming regularity are what ultimately drive her away.)

 _It's just a cruel existence like there's no point hoping at all._

He promised himself he'd stop.

(That's the final thought that crosses his mind before he does it anyways.)

He is not, nor has he possibly ever been, _okay_. He hates that word with vehement passion. Is it possible to be _okay_ if you have believed a lie for your entire life? Is it possible to be _okay_ if your home was the residence of pure evil? Is it possible to be _okay_ if that evil was injected into your life and your heart and your very soul has turned to dust because of it?

He does not wish to be called good or, Merlin help him, _okay_. He does not want pity or even kindness (his mother smothers him with both as if she personally could atone for his sins).

But the tiniest sliver of himself hopes that her return could bring back the friendship he once destroyed.

 _Author's Note:_

 _This has been sitting in my hard drive for a while. This story will be slightly AU, which will be mostly revealed in the first chapter. No spoilers in author's notes, though ;) This is not a song fic, but I felt that Taylor Swift and Zayn's "I Don't Wanna Live Forever" fit the prologue and tone of the story well. Lyrics in this chapter come from that song._

 _I subscribe to the same denial as many of you (Epilogue? What Epilogue?), so yes - this story will be Dramione. **More importantly** , this is the only time I will tag for **trigger warnings** : this story will include descriptions of self-harm, depression, and recovery. If that's not for you, then I won't be offended if you choose not to read further chapters. I tried to keep it non-explicit in description, but once we get to that part in the story, if anyone feels the rating needs to be increased let me know._

 _Have a great weekend!_


	2. Chapter 2

" _I'm a wizard," the blonde boy says, pride obvious in his voice._

 _The girl frowns and crosses her arms. "If you'd like to be a wizard, you should probably wear a hat," she says decidedly._

 _He frowns, his eyebrows twisting together in indignation. "No, I really_ am _a wizard!" The pride creeps back into his eyes as he explains, "My whole family are wizards. Powerful ones. And we were all Slytherins in Hogwarts, the wizard school."_

" _I might like to go there," the girl says after a moment of pondering. "I've always felt a little different from my family. Maybe we could all go and be Slytherins, too."_

 _The boys grins. He slings an arm around the girl's shoulders in a childish half-hug and exclaims, "We could be the Slytherin prince and princess, Minnie!"_

 _The girl and the boy shared laughter before the boy was called away by his sour-looking mother. The girl wandered away from the park, joyfully skipping home to tell her parents of her adventures with her new best friend._

* * *

 _1991: First Year_

 _Hermione hurried through the halls, head down. She held a stack of thick books in her thin adolescent arms, and her hair bushed out around her face enough to hide her gaze from anything more than the floor in front of her._

 _Which is why when she suddenly collided with the object of her thoughts, she crashed to the floor. Her books scattered,_ Hogwarts: A History, Volume IV _sliding right up against the shoe of one Draco Malfoy._

 _A gasp escaped Hermione's mouth as she hit the cold stone floor. She frowned at her various tomes spread out on the floor, not worrying for a moment about whom she'd run into until she heard the too-familiar voice above her._

" _Minnie?" he asked. She froze, an arm stretched out towards a particularly thick textbook. Her chocolate brown eyes flicked upwards. Draco stared down at her, confusion flooding his features. "I didn't know…" it was all he seemed to be able to say. She wasn't sure if he meant "you're a witch" or "you came to school here"._

 _Hermione managed to make it to her feet unsteadily as he continued to stare at her. "Of course not," she replied haughtily. "You expect friends to stay in contact, but when they refuse you can't tell them that you're a witch." She flipped her dark hair away from her face as though she possessed more years than her mere twelve._

 _Draco's stormy grey-blue eyes narrowed. "I didn't know we were friends."_

 _Hermione scrunched her nose at him. "Of course not," she huffed. "You always side with your family. Even about whom you should hate."_

" _Whatever, mudblood," he spat, just as his two lackeys approached them. The words felt like an insult that she didn't quite understand, like when the kids at her old school used to make fun of her._

" _You tell her, Malfoy," the big one encouraged as the both sneered at her. Hermione bent to collect the last of her books from just in front of Draco's expensive leather shoe._

 _She looked at him one last time, and for just a moment swore she saw regret in his eyes. But they hardened too quickly, his arrogant sneer safely in place. She stretched out her chin slightly, a "Goodbye, Draco" spilling angrily from her lips as she swept past the three boys._

* * *

 _1998: Six months after the defeat of Voldemort…_

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I know you feel you need to be with your parents right now. But please come home soon. Ron and I miss you more than anything._

 _Harry_

It was short, sweet, and to the point. Hermione sighed as the cream sheet of paper fell from her pale fingers and fluttered to the table. The letters came once a week, always on a Wednesday. They'd started pages long – an update on the goings at Hogwarts, an amusing anecdote on Ginny, a quick paragraph on the Death Eaters who'd come out of hiding…

But they always ended with Harry begging her to "come home".

Eventually the letters shrank in size, until now they were only a few lines. And they always said the same: Harry and Ron missed her, and they wanted her with them at Hogwarts. But she hid behind the excuse of needing to be with her parents.

Hermione slowly rose from the wooden chair, tugging the maroon sleeve of her sweater down as she went. Her fingers shakily caught on the kitchen table before she was steady enough to pad across the tile floor in her woolen socks. Right on cue, the teapot squealed as steam hissed from its opening. "Mum, the tea!" she called out. She could hear her mother's heel-clad feet stutter around upstairs for a moment before the sound disappeared on the carpet.

"Morning, darling," her mother said breezily, feet clicking against the cherry hardwood floor. Hermione reached up in the open cupboard until her fingers lightly grazed the edge of a mug. Her mother pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek as Hermione lowered from her toes. "I'll have to drink it in the car this morning; I've got an early appointment," she explained quickly. When Hermione turned to respond it was to see her mother's back retreating through the front door. "Bye sweetie!" she called as it shut loudly behind her.

As it happened every morning, Hermione couldn't bring herself to look at her mother. Not once.

Her father left early and came home late. Her mother, on the other hand, was a bit unavoidable.

Hermione poured hot water into her mug over the tea bag resting in the bottom, then curled her slightly trembling fingers around the sides. She made her way back to her chair, and set the light green mug down on the flowered tablecloth. Time passed, the moment stretching on probably longer than she knew. She didn't drink the tea even after it finished seeping, instead staring into its murky depths. But rather than a divination or even _just tea_ , she saw images from that last day over and over again.

 _Harry and Voldemort and Malfoy and George and death and death and_ _ **death**_ _._

Hermione's head jerked up as a distantly familiar fluttering came from the kitchen sink. No – behind the sink. A light brown shape thudded against the window pane, a cream rectangle attached to the bottom –

 _Oh,_ Hermione realized suddenly. _An owl._ All of her letters from Harry came by post (how he got them out of Hogwarts that way she'd never know). An owl for _her_ at the window; it perched delicately on the sill and tilted its head to the side as if wondering if she was planning to collect the prize clutched in its talons. She stared at it for a moment, pushing back her unbrushed hair. It didn't disappear spontaneously or leave as she expected. _Real then,_ she decided. She rose and hurried breathlessly to the window. Her fingers slipped against the lock on her first try, but on the second she managed to unlock the pane and slide the pane upwards.

Of course the owl had managed to come to the only window in the house without a screen. With a hop and a flutter it landed upon the silver faucet. Hermione's breath caught anxiously in her throat. She hesitantly reached out for the envelope it held. Then as quickly as it had appeared, the small barn owl hopped away and out the window.

Hermione ran a wand-calloused finger along the edge of the letter. It was indeed addressed to _Hermione Granger_ , in bold, unwavering strokes that looked only slightly familiar. She flipped it over to find it wasn't at all sealed. Before she could remind herself what a terrible idea it was her finger slid under the flap –

 _You can't,_ a voice in her head reminded her. _You can't do this again._

But then the note was in her fingers. The envelope fell to the floor, unnoticed.

The edges of the single page were worn and it was covered in crinkles, as though someone had held the letter in their hands many times before. It shook like a leaf blown by the autumn winds in her hand.

 _Minnie,_ it addressed, and it almost joined the envelope at her feet.

Only one person had ever called her that name.

She blinked away tears for long forgotten days and wondered why. Her eyes skipped the short middle text in favor of the end – and yes, it had come from _him_. She forced herself to go back to the beginning to read the letter in its entirety.

 _Minnie,_

 _I am so very sorry._

Hermione's vision blurred for a moment.

 _Today I used that word my father calls the muggles. And I did not mean it, not ever, not for you. But you know how severely I would be punished if he caught me saying we are friends. Crabb and Doyle were right there. I do not have more excuses. I am sorry Minnie. Please do not believe it if you hear that word again. You will. They will try to hurt you. I will not let them if I can. I still want to be friends._

 _Always,_

 _The dragon._

Her hand flew to her mouth, a sob breaking through her lips. Her legs gave out only a moment later, and she collapsed on the floor against the cupboard. Her hand squeezed the letter tight enough that it quickly crushed in her grip. She gasped, another sob shaking her frame. Tears dripped down her pale cheeks and off her chin as she struggled to flatten out the letter against her upturned knee.

Through the veil of tears, she managed to catch the date – it was from her third full day at Hogwarts.

The day he'd called her a _mudblood_ for the first time.

The scar on her forearm burned, but for once her hand didn't fly to soothe it. Instead she read the letter again and again, each time noticing something different. He'd written it when they had been children. She flinched when she saw the stains already on the paper. He'd held this piece of paper how many times…and cried over it.

Not Malfoy. Never Malfoy. No, this was the work of _Draco_. Her friend from childhood. The boy she'd grown up playing dragon-and-princess with in the park, the one her mother always let come home for dinner if his parents were busy, the one she'd lain under the stars with. Her Draco.

She'd tried so hard to forget him. Malfoy had quickly taken over the boy Draco…or so she had thought. But in her hand she held the proof she had always denied herself. That Draco was maybe still underneath the Dark Mark Malfoy bore. But why then? Why send her the letter? Why, six months after the battle, six months after they had won only by losing _too much_.

Her tears dried quickly; she scrubbed them away with her sleeve. It had to be his idea of a joke. Their first few years in Hogwarts, she had believed that maybe someday they could've still been friends. But time had a way of revealing the darkness that people kept deeply hidden, and Malfoy had been no exception. The letter was a way for him to prove he'd let go of whatever friendship they'd had.

Taunting her, and nothing more.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _Thanks for all the love everyone. I so appreciate all the alerts! I'd love to see reviews if you have few seconds to drop me a quick line. Also, this won't be a "regular update day", but I wanted to follow the prologue up with the first chapter fairly quickly._

 _Yes, I will explain Hermione's parents. Don't worry ;)_

 _-Me._


End file.
